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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053618">The King of Vipers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thun/pseuds/Thun'>Thun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chaptered, F/F, Gen, Short Story, Story</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:16:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thun/pseuds/Thun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Claude Gardener is a young adult living with his sister and her girlfriend in the state of Saint Esprit. He drinks his fair share and is “socially awkward,” but regardless is considered one of Doveport’s darlings— though he insists it doesn’t mean much, as it’s a small town. His life gains interest when he saves a bounty his sibling’s lover has tirelessly hunted; and has to decide whether to turn the criminal over, or let them slip away into the night.<br/>Though...such a decision shouldn’t be so hard, right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Bounty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     “Another one, p-please...” I spluttered, laying my head down on the polished wood bar. It was so beautiful when there weren’t so many people— deep chestnut shades of wood, crystalline glass bottles of liquor lined up behind the bartender...but it always got so crowded. I wasn’t ever a socialite. In fact, people made my heart race and I always felt like I couldn’t breathe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     And yet, people seemed to flock to me like moths to a flame. People of all types. People cooing about my “beautiful black hair” and “smooth porcelain skin...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">...People are creepy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     The barkeep gave me an odd look, but slid a half-filled glass in my direction. It gently bumped my open palm and came to a quick half. I brought the glass to my mouth, the sounds of the building flooding into my ears. Senseless chatter. Roughhousing. It was too loud...I tried to focus on one noise in specific. A hushed disagreement between two men at a table close to me. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the matter? Weren’t expecting to lose?” The first man had a smug cadence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You cheated.” The second, smooth and slightly muffled under what I assumed was the collar of a coat. Though whatever slick and slightly saccharine voice he put on didn’t do a very good job of hiding his slight discomfort at his predicament. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aww, somebody’s a sore loser...Now pay up. I’m accepting all methods, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">     I tilted my head slightly to watch them, peering out of the corner of my vision. The table was littered with cards and old bills. I could immediately tell the men apart, as the first one had a sneer on his face. His greying hair was thinning, and he had thick creases under his eyes. I couldn’t make out his build under a poorly fitted suit, like it was made for someone much larger.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     The second man seemed to orchestrate his outfit purely to hide his face, the brim of his tanned hat tilted down to cast a shadow over his eyes with his trench coat collar flipped up over his mouth. I thought he looked a bit dumb. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t have any money.” The second man quietly bristled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I said all methods, didn’t I? Those extend just beyond the reach of funds...” The man across from him reached forward to touch his face then, like a flash, his arm was twisted in a tight grip. The second man stood. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>No</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You little...!” The first man pulled a revolver from his holster and fired. Everyone else seemed to back away from the scene, those at the bar awkwardly shuffling to the other side of the room. The grip on his arm was released as the second man crumpled, blood blossoming out of his shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I’m not sure what came over me. Maybe it was a sense of justice. Maybe my life was lacking and I just really wanted to get into a fight, but nonetheless I took the bottle of a man who previously sat beside me and broke it over the bar table, putting myself between the two men.I wavered uncertainly, the table feeling as though it could just collapse under my feet. I pointed the broken bottle at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     He almost looked like he could laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you ever heard the expression, ‘bringing a knife to a gun fight?’” He pointed the gun at me. “If not, you’re about to find out what it me—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I dug the razor sharp edges into his gun-wielding arm while he rambled, twisting and turning until he yowled and reeled back against the wall. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“N-No honor...either of you...how befitting of you to be that bastard’s knight in shining armor...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I stared at his arm. Several marks ran red down his arm like a waterfall. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Did I do that?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I shook my head quickly and shouldered the second man. My legs felt like jelly, as though any moment I’d collapse, especially with the added weight. But I had to get home. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">     So I just left. I left the silent bar with the bleeding man and the shocked onlookers. I didn’t even pay my tab. Maybe I can do it next time.    <br/>
</span>     The weight on my shoulders groaned weakly. Something about it pained me, in an annoying way. I wanted to bite my tongue off and shut my eyes tight just thinking about it. How obnoxious.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Once I was a safe distance away from that trigger-happy man I set the fellow down. The wound couldn’t have been that deep, despite all the blood and the range of the shot. I suppose it was lucky, if bizarre. Maybe it was intentional.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I took my coat, the only layer I wore on top of a loose dress shirt and slacks, and tied it around the shoulder. It wasn’t ideal, but it would maybe make all that blood stop gushing out until I could get Sunny to look at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Looking at his face was a sad sight. He was a pale guy, one of the types that’s real rosy in the cheeks, though he looked like a ghost from all the blood loss. His eyes were sunken and glossy, they were hazel I think. The right one had three big, gnarly scars over it. His hair was red as a fire, some of it was sticky from the initial spattering of blood. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You know, all this mention of blood, it would have probably done him a world of good if it were still inside his body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I picked him up again, much more gently. My right arm slipped under his knees and my left his back. It was actually a little easier this way, either that or I was becoming less rattled. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     As we continued on, he was oddly quiet. I imagine he was real tired, though I would at least expect a wince for having been shot. Maybe he just wasn’t a talker. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...I’m C-Claude.” I stuttered, a bit awkwardly, to break the silence. “Claude Gardener...’m taking you to my sister’s place so she can...well, h-help.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Nothing I say ever comes out as good as it sounds in my head. I stutter and pause and get nervous around most types who aren’t my sister or her lady friend, but even then the lady friend can be real scary. I think that’s why Sunny likes her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shut his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     “...Mickey Arlo.” The name trickled out of his mouth in a faint whisper. Something about it struck me as a bit familiar, like the types of familiar you’d read in the paper and forget about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I skimmed the ground. A dirt pathway, a desire path made by horses and human treading to greet the way to a plethora of buildings and some homes. One of which was mine. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I went up the two steps and brushed my boot against the door, causing a chorus of meows from inside. Sunny and her damn cats. She loved those things, couldn’t have more than just one. It didn’t help that two of them hated me, either. The only one that liked me was a pretty little fluffy tomcat that was the runt of his litter. Admittedly, when he twitches his little pink nose at me I think I just might die. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Sunny swung open the door, going a bit pale at the sight. I thought she’d faint if I hadn’t had known any better— she’s the spitting image of me in every way. Short, dark-haired and pink-toned, with the same steel grey eyes and built-in scowl. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What in the...What’s this?” She furrowed her brow, a hand resting on her hip. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we save the interrogation for when someone’s not...b-bleedin’ to death on my nice shirt?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     She huffed and took that guy, Mickey Arlo, from me and brought him to the table. Elizabeth, that girl she loves, would’ve had a coronary if she saw the blood on the dining table her father built for us. That girl worked fast, with precision unmatched anywhere in any of the seven states. As she worked I sat in a chair that was shoved to the corner, tilting my head back and staring at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Everything was spinning. I thought I might vomit. It’s a wonder I walked here on my own two feet, much less carrying a body. I figured situations like that were supposed to help you sober up...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the hell happened?” She shot the question at me while she worked. I was immediately brought out of the world inside my head. Damnit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guy got shot...c-card game, I...th-think...” I slurred, rubbing my temples. The sounds were starting to flood back in, and it was overwhelming. The cats clawing and meowing, the needles clicking, that poor bastard on the table sucking air through his teeth and whimpering...I needed to go outside. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I abruptly went back through the open door, sitting on the steps and resting my face in my hands. My head was pounding, my stomach was swirling. I thought my organs were going to melt and pour out of my eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Then, as if by some divine punishment, another person arrived to pester me. A woman of rather tall stature with dusty brown hair, wearing the most garish patterns anyone could find in a suit without it being laughable, and looking down at me like a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe. If another person so much as looked at me, I thought I was going to die on the spot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is your sister home?” She asked. Elizabeth Westcott was her name. A bounty hunter, my sister’s lover, and a professional at talking to me like I was a child even though she was only three years my senior. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In there fixing some g-guy...” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes like I was trying to gouge them out. “Redhead with some scars...” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     She seemed oddly interested, her eyebrows forming an arch. Elizabeth stepped over me, which I found particularly inconsiderate, and looked inside. Immediately, her head jerked over her shoulder like an owl. Well, if an owl had feathers in the same pattern as my grandmother’s wallpaper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...Claude, I think you’ve just found my bounty for me.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Question</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh-What..?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elizabeth positioned herself so she was blocking the door, though it’s not like the poor bastard could escape even if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They call him the King of Vipers,” she spoke in a soft hiss. “He’s the slipperiest damn criminal in all the seven states, takes what he wants and vanishes without a trace. They can’t even find out where he’s been and when, ‘cause he’s so quick.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I should have been more alarmed by the knowledge that there was a criminal in my home, especially one that’s alone with my sister, but for some reason I felt...distinctly unthreatened. Maybe because my first exposure with the guy was when he was damn near bleeding to death. After all, it’s a little hard to be scared of someone in such a sorry state. Then, a question came to mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If he’s so c-clever...how do you know what he looks like?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thought for a moment, as if pondering exactly how to answer. My eyes were burning, I felt like such shit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In all his....’<em>career</em>,’ he’s only made one mistake. A mistake that’s cost him greatly, it seems.” She pointed to her eye with one short nail. “That’s how he’s got those terrible scars, we think. And how we know what he looks like.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I felt as though my question had gone more or less unanswered. Curse Elizabeth and her wretched vagueness. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“W-Well...what’re you gonna do about ‘em? He’s...in a d-damn unfortunate state, right now...” I couldn’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. “It would be a bit c-cruel to bring him in as he is, yeah..?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We exchanged looks for several seconds. Elizabeth looked at me as though I were the dumbest thing she’d ever seen. I hated her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, what a shame it would be to bring in a criminal,” she grumbled. “One with a body count nonetheless.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If we’re talking about bodies...y-you’re no better!” I recalled the various lifeless corpses she’d brought to the sheriff’s office. People who’d committed mostly petty crimes. Horse thieves and the like...Types who might have done something bad, but didn’t deserve to <em>die</em> for their crimes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the look on her face I thought as though she’d put a bullet in my head right then and there...but she didn’t. She just glowered for an uncomfortable time before turning away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Fine</em>. If your heart bleeds for a killer that much, then we will keep him here until the end of tomorrow. After that I’m going to turn him in, and if you try to stop me I’ll turn you in too, Sunny be damned.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was an empty threat, but it still made me shiver from my head to my shoes. Elizabeth shouldered her way past the door, and I followed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She made the house feel much smaller when she was in it. Everything was in one floor, the place where we slept and lived separated from the dining room by a brick half-wall. Sunny and I slept in these bedrolls I got at the general store because she couldn’t stand the couch, and if I sleep on my side I get odd nightmares that trouble me quite a lot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I very hesitantly walked over to the table where that guy was laid out. Sunny had stepped back, her work apparently done, though I wouldn’t know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey Arlo, the King of Vipers. Such a strange title for someone who looked...very weak. Like one of the sickly boys I’d have gone to school with. In fact he couldn’t have been much older than me, maybe even younger. He looked up at me, his eyes glassy and devoid of any shimmer. His chest heaved as though he was breathing quickly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh-What’re you gonna do to me...” He tried to turn his lip in a snarl, but he was as threatening as a wounded bird. I’m not sure why, but I gently placed my hand on the table beside his head. He flinched and I felt that terribly annoying feeling in my chest again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing...” My voice softened, almost outside of my own free will. “W-We’re keeping you here so you can heal up f-from that damn wound.” I felt myself sobering up a bit, which was good. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he locked eyes with me. Something about it was captivating, though not necessarily in a good way— like he was in control of the situation despite his pathetic state. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not going to turn me in...” it felt more like a command than a question. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“N-Not as of yet.” I stuttered, feeling Elizabeth’s eyes drill holes into the back of my skull. Sunny piped up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You still haven’t told me who this guy is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Claudie, do you know him? You know his name?” Elizabeth latched onto the chance to interrogate me, calling me by a much hated nickname. My skin burned, I felt like a cornered animal. Was she trying to implicate me?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it? Huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...I-I...I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
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